Her Visit
by kaatee
Summary: Sabina's reaction to Alex's confession about MI6 in Skeleton Key. How does she really feel?


**Hey :)  
Alex has just told Sabina about his secret identity. I love them as a couple and this has been a developing idea of mine for a while. Told from her point of view, this a one shot of her feelings towards him, her thoughts on his strange characteristics and her reactions to his big revelation.  
Sorry it's so short, but it's midnight, and I've got to get up and go to the gym tomorrow so humour me :)**

I opened my door only slightly whilst peeking my head out slowly. The coast was clear.

Checking over my shoulder every few seconds, I padded down the long hallway and took the second door to my left. It was dark when I slid the door open. The darkness helped my mind clear somewhat.

My night vision was pretty poor so I approached the bed with caution, not wanting to wake him up.

I recalled the last 25 minutes. I'd confronted Alex on his strange withdrawal from Wimbledon. It had been incredibly sudden. One second he'd been there – the next I heard he'd been asked to leave and they'd replaced him. That new boy hadn't been nearly as cute! I'd heard the rumours from one of the few girls I'd spoken with from my dorm. I didn't get on well with girls; not at all. Boys were so much easier to understand – except for Alex, of course. Anyway, this girl had informed me that Alex had been caught scrapping with one of the on-site security guards and had been escorted off the premises. I hadn't believed her at first, but when he didn't show up for the lunch time rush in the canteen, I'd thought about it more. It didn't seem like him. Don't get me wrong, I didn't know him well at all, in fact, I knew very little about him. I'd invited him on this surfing trip with my family on a whim. I knew squat about him, but there was definitely something… familiar about him. We'd not needed to really _know_ each other to get on. It was like he didn't care who I was or where I was from, as such, as long as I didn't want to know him in return. I'd never met anyone like him.

I stifled a laugh, even now, to think what his reply had been. _Why don't you tell me the truth?_ I'd urged, feeling sorry for him. Maybe he had no one he trusted enough to talk about his issues; maybe I could be that person. No one could keep quiet for too long before it became a problem. I liked Alex. I didn't want him to get into that situation. _All right, Sab._ He'd sighed. _I'm not really a schoolboy. I'm a spy, a teenaged James Bond_. I smiled, glancing down at the boy in front of me. I couldn't quite process him. Was he joking? I brought my hand and slapped my forehead lightly; _of course he's joking, Sabina, don't be stupid!_ If he didn't want me to know what was bothering him, other than brute force, there was nothing I could do to change his mind. When he was ready to talk, I could be there for him. That was the best I could do.

Reaching the bed posts, I bent over his head. My hair fell over my face and onto his skin. He stirred only a little.

There was definitely something different about him… something… special, maybe? As soon as he'd been thrown out of Wimbledon, I'd got in touch with a friend I had over in Chelsea. She went to Brookland. She knew of Alex, saying very few kids in school didn't. I assumed that was a good thing, but she'd told me different. Apparently, he was never in school and had, recently, come down with a series of serious illnesses and had spent little over 4 days in school over the last couple of terms. What had been his explanation for that? _I'm bullied at school._

I could believe it – we'd been down on Fistral Beach earlier today, getting ready to ride the waves, when I'd noticed him in his swimming shorts. It would have been a tender moment, if not for the fact that his body was covered, from neck to ankle, in bruises, scabs and scars. I'd tried not to stare… I'd looked away instantly and not mentioned it again… until 25 minutes ago.

But there was something else. My friend had mentioned another coincidence. Alex's first day back from his second illness had been the day that the school's science department had been claimed in a huge fire that had never received an explanation. This had shocked me. Alex didn't strike me as your friendly, neighbourhood arsonist. He was sweet, honest (when he wasn't hiding his feelings, that is) and caring. I knew that, even with our recent meeting, he'd probably do anything for me. He seemed to take a general interest in anything I talked to him about. I was never stuck for conversation – we talked easily.

I leant further into him, smelling his soft, unique fragrance. He wasn't the typical man. For his 14 years, he was incredibly mature and didn't take crap from people. At the same time, his smell was boyish. Too young for him, like a small child smelt.

All things considered, I knew I was going to have to accept the fact that I liked Alex. I was incredibly attracted to him. He was handsome, kind, caring, and mysterious. Although, the latter being the main reason there were complications. How could I have a relationship with someone who rarely gave me a straight answer on questions concerning his mental or physical state? How could I be in a relationship with someone who jokes about being James Bond? _James freaking Bond!_ I shouted at myself internally. There were piles of reasons why this was totally impossible. Tonnes, in fact. He lived too far away for it to plausible. I mean, Chelsea? It'd be more trouble than it's worth to try and keep up regular contact. I wanted it though, that was the annoying thing. I wanted the regular contact and the physicality, and I wanted it badly. I wanted to know how it would feel to hold his hand, show him off to my friends, to have his body lying next to me, his arm around my shoulders… to kiss him.

I knew my time was running out. I pressed my lips lightly to his, fulfilling my mood for the night. His lips were soft, tender. I tried not to linger. A huge smile was highly pronounced on my face; I was glad the lights weren't on.

"You're much cuter than James Bond." I told his sleeping body, glad that I was alone in spirit. I stood; it was time to go.

My hand on the door handle, I turned back to give him one last glance. He still slept peacefully, angelically. I needed to tell him how I felt. I was only going to make it awkward. I sighed, sliding the door open and closing it quietly behind me.

I should sleep on it.


End file.
